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“Yes, I believe he is here with his wife and a party of friends. I bumped into him in the refreshment room.”

“He's still a handsome rogue, is he not, Mrs Brandon? And with his wife, you say. Well, by all accounts that is most unusual. Does the Colonel know he is here? Though perhaps it might be a good idea not to mention him; that gentleman's presence only seems to upset your husband. Old wounds take a long time to heal!”

Marianne felt her confusion most pertinently. To her great relief, she saw Margaret coming off the floor after dancing with Henry. Excusing herself, she moved off to greet them both. To her great dismay, Margaret did not look at all happy. Perhaps Henry had told her of his forthcoming engagement. It was impossible to talk now; she would have to wait until they were at home before she could even broach the subject and even then, she thought, it might be necessary to wait for Margaret to speak on the matter.

Colonel Brandon appeared at her side, only to tell her that he was in request for a game of cards after supper with an old friend he had known in the East Indies. He apologised, promising her the last dance, but Marianne felt most disappointed. He always revelled in the company of men, she mused, and her own dislike of cards, particularly whist, meant that she was often left to find some other amusement whilst he entertained. He was not really a man who loved to dance as she did, although he usually tried to please her by partnering her often. However, on this occasion she felt most upset that he was choosing to leave her alone.

Alas, the supper bell rang out at that moment. She really did not feel in the mood to sit with anyone and was worried that Mrs Jennings, or worse still, Lucy Ferrars, might mention Willoughby. Marianne was sure William had not yet seen him and hoped it would remain so, as she knew nothing would alter his mood quicker than the knowledge that his old rival was in the vicinity.

Margaret's dance with Henry had been a disaster from her point of view. Although she had been delighted that he should have asked her to dance at all, the outcome could not have been more upsetting. Henry had not spoken a word; there had been no familiarity, no ease of address, and certainly no feeling that he was going to repeat his request. She felt he was simply going through the motions out of a sense of duty. Margaret wished he had not bothered. But by the time she returned to her seat she began to blame herself, thinking perhaps that she should have made more effort to speak to him. The activity had been such a strain on her nerves that in a way she was glad it was over. Henry would not have to ask her again; he had behaved in a polite if cold manner and could now return to his Mademoiselle.

Supper was a trial. Margaret imagined that Mrs Ferrars and Miss Steele only sat on her table to amuse themselves by her reactions to the behaviour of Henry and his ladylove, who were seated further down the table.

“Look at the lovers now, Lucy,” cried Miss Steele. “Did you ever see such a public display?”

Margaret did not want to look down the table but could not help herself. Henry was whispering to his lover with urgent intent. Never had two people looked more confidential to her way of thinking.

“I expect Lady Lawrence is thrilled,” answered Lucy. “Mademoiselle de Fontenay's fortune will mean there will be no delay to their marriage.”

Margaret tried hard not to listen as the sisters talked of weddings, with hints of naval ceremonies and nudges in her direction. Her eyes perused the lower end of the table; she could see Marianne seething with indignation as Lady Lawrence regaled her with tales of nuptial expectations and stories of ill health, whilst piling her plate high with pastries and cake, managing to consume every last morsel.

Charles Carey and Mr Mortimer did not make an appearance at supper, and on looking about, Margaret could not see any sign of them. She wondered briefly if they were still in the card room, but decided that this was not very likely.